


One

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Happy Ending, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin unexpectedly meets his true love among the elves of Rivendell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One

It had been two weeks since Lord Elrond’s unlikely guests had arrived in Rivendell….two weeks that the ragtag company of dwarves had spent quietly wondering why their leader did not seem to be in any haste to leave the domain of elves. 

It had been two weeks since you had looked up from playing your harp to meet eyes, blue as a summer sky, whose intent gaze was fixed upon you with a stirring fascination. Indeed, you had been so entranced by this handsome stranger that you were brought back to reality only by the harsh twang of discordant strings between your fingers that earned you reproachful looks from your fellow musicians.

He had first spoken to you in the music room, where you had been practicing a new composition until the sound of his footsteps caused you to fall into silence.

“Please, continue. I have no wish to interrupt you.” His voice was deep, but pleasant, saved from roughness by its rich, warm tone. It occurred to you to wonder if he could sing.

Self-consciously, you finished the piece you’d been playing, and the last notes reverberated in the quiet chamber. 

“You play beautifully,” he said, wandering to the cabinet where the smaller instruments, flutes and mandolins and lutes, were displayed.

“Do you enjoy music?” you asked, as he ran his fingers gently over the polished wood of a small, handheld harp.

“Aye, most among my people do,” he answered. “But you may have guessed that, after our first meal here.”

His smile was sheepish, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the impromptu performance of a rousing song by one of the more lively dwarves.

“Yes…the inn, and the tipsy cat, and…”

“The man in the moon,” he finished, permitting himself a small laugh, which you shared. He picked up the harp and gestured toward an empty chair opposite you. “May I?”

“Of course,” you replied, your curiosity piqued.

“Not all of our music is so boisterous,” he said, giving the strings an experimental strum, and he began to play a melody that was lovely, melancholy and haunting, the sort of tune that seemed to find its way into your blood as you listened. You relished the opportunity to simply watch this singularly intriguing person to your heart’s content, observing the way his close-knitted brows relaxed, his stern expression softened, his powerful hands delicately plucked out each note. His eyes met yours as he drew his fingers across the strings for the final time, holding your gaze, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“What is your name?” he asked.

You told him, and he repeated it, his tongue roughening the unfamiliar syllables in a way that made you smile to hear it.

“I am called Thorin–”

“Oakenshield, I know,” you supplied. “Word of your reputation has spread quickly throughout Imladris.”

He looked momentarily wary. “And what is my reputation here?”

“I am told you are not overly fond of elves,” you answered truthfully.

“I have never met an elf like you,” he said quietly.

Your eyes searched his, and he quickly stood to replace the harp in its cabinet. He made to leave, but stopped just before the door, turning back to face you. 

“I hope to see you again, my lady,” he said, bowing his head.

A smile crept across your face. “And I you, sir.”

As you lay on your bed that night, your thoughts swirled like a whirlwind, with Thorin Oakenshield always at their center. He could be brusque and formidable, but you’d seen a glimpse of a kind soul beneath his outer toughness, and you wondered, irresistibly, how his character might be shaped by a life secure in the love of another. For a fleeting moment you dreamed of his handsome face and regal bearing, of his piercing blue eyes and luxurious mane of dark hair, and imagined yourself the object of his affection.

Almost as soon as the thought had entered your mind, you scolded yourself for your foolishness. The distrust between dwarves and elves was longstanding, and surely it was impossible that this dwarf – this King of dwarves – could treat you, could even think of you, with anything more than common courtesy. Attempting to push Thorin, and the pleasant flutters in your stomach he inspired, from your mind, you closed your eyes and composed yourself to rest.

As the days of the dwarves’ sojourn stretched on, Thorin continued to seek out your company, for reasons known only to himself. He lingered by your side in the gardens, walked with you in the moonlight, taught you new songs on the harp, and though you quickly came to cherish the hours spent alone with Thorin, you remained unwilling to believe that he meant to show you anything more than friendship, always stifling a small, inner whisper that wondered why he seemed to be so drawn to you, why you often caught him stealing glances at you when he was meant to be in conversation with others. One evening, however, as you sat with him on a bench overlooking the waterfall in the heart of Rivendell, emboldened by his warm companionship, your curiosity found its voice.

“Thorin, may I ask you something?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“Why do you tarry with me so often?”

“I enjoy your company.” He spoke hesitantly, and even in the twilight, you could see his cheeks darken with a flush. “Does my presence offend you?”

“Never,” you reassured him, with an encouraging smile. “Your presence cheers me. I only wondered,” you finished, turning back to the view before you, but your attention was drawn again by his voice speaking your name and the warmth of his hand laid tentatively on your own.

He paused to choose his words. “I would be honest with you,” he said solemnly. “It is true that I enjoy your company…but that is not the entire truth.” You listened with a furrowed brow as he forged on. “Among dwarves, we believe that for each person, there is One, a true love, irresistible, irreplaceable, with whom they might be happy for a lifetime. It is a notion I had abandoned,” his eyes searched your face avidly, “until I came here…until I met you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, your mind reeling at the implication of his words. In barely more than a whisper, you asked uncertainly, “do you claim to love me?”

“I feel in my heart that you are the one whose soul calls to mine, the one whom I could love for the rest of my days,” he replied, casting about for words to explain. “It is as when you find a sapling in the forest…can you not look upon it and see the shadow of the tree it will become?”

“Indeed,” you conceded. A shy smile tugged at your lips, and you moved your fingers, almost experimentally, to entwine them with his. “Thorin, is it possible?” you asked, in a small voice. “You and me?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “It is nothing I imagined or expected. But I know what you mean to me, that my heart is gladdened by the sight of your face, and has been since the moment I laid eyes upon you.” 

Your smile broadened, and you reached slowly to touch his beard with your fingertips, tenderly exploring its unfamiliar, bristly softness. He smiled at your curiosity and leaned closer to you, his mouth a breath away from yours.

“May I?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

His lips were lush, if roughened by weather, and their gentle motion against your own seemed to send lightning through your veins. You trailed your fingers through his hair to rest on the back of his neck, nearly dizzy with this heady new sensation of desiring and being desired in return. The few, awkward, fumbling kisses of your childhood had done nothing to prepare you for the caresses of this man’s lips, this man whom you somehow knew in your heart of hearts was everything you’d ever wanted.

Your pulse was quickened as he rested his forehead against yours with a smile and a low, contented sigh. “I have to go to meet with Lord Elrond,” he said regretfully, “else I should be glad to stay by your side.”

“Shall I see you tomorrow?” you asked.

“You shall, first thing in the morning,” he promised, pressing one more kiss to your lips before taking his leave, and you were alone with the fireflies to marvel at everything that had happened.

It was late that night, and you were humming a quiet tune as you wrapped yourself in your dressing gown and began to brush your hair, when a soft knock sounded at the door to your chambers. You opened it to find Thorin standing on the threshold, clearly agitated.

“What is wrong?” you asked, as he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. 

“I must go.”

“Go?” Understanding dawned on you in a rush. “To Erebor.”

“Yes. Tonight,” he said, regret etched on his rugged features. “I have learned from Elrond that we must reach the mountain before the last moon of Autumn…and it seems there is another wizard, here, now, who would interfere with our quest,” he finished helplessly.

“I understand,” you said, in a quiet voice, hoping to mask your heartache.

He came to take both of your hands in his, drawing your gaze to meet his. “Amrâlimê…my love,” he said urgently, “I would return for you, if you will have me.”

“And what, then?” you wondered. “What would you wish of me?”

“I would wish you to wed me, be enthroned at my side in Erebor.”

“Would Thorin Oakenshield truly have an elleth for his Queen?” you asked doubtfully.

“I would have _you_ for my Queen. I care not for your race,” he vowed.

“Your people will care.”

“If they would have me as King, they must accept my heart’s desire. If they will not, Fili will be King and I shall live out my days in happiness and love with you,” he said firmly. “What say you, amrâlimê? Dare I hope that you will await my coming?”

You clasped his hands, looking into his expectant eyes, and smiled, tearful with the swelling of your heart. “Be safe, Thorin,” you pleaded. “Be safe, and come back to me.”

His face was lit with joy as you bent to kiss him, his fingers weaving into your hair as his lips fervently met yours. “I must rouse the others,” he said, too soon.

You nodded bravely, and he reached to cradle your face with his hands. “When you think of me, turn your eyes to the east and know that, whatever fate has befallen me, I dream of you,” he murmured, and with a last, longing look, he was gone.

* * *

The snows of winter had given way to the blossoms and gentle rains of spring. News had reached Imladris of a great battle at the Lonely Mountain, but other than the certainty that Erebor was in the hands of the dwarves once more, details of its outcome were vague. Some said that the entire company of dwarves had perished, others that only the heirs of Durin had lost their lives, and with each rumor and bit of whispered hearsay, your hope quietly faded.

Your face was toward the sunrise that morning, the sky washed gloriously with pink and gold, when Lindir approached, his expression impassive.

“Lord Elrond requests your presence.”

You nodded and hurried to follow him, the dread in the pit of your stomach making you tremble. Lindir escorted you into Elrond’s study, where the kind elf greeted you by taking your shaking hands into his, observing you sympathetically. He was silent for a moment before nodding toward the arched doorway on the opposite side of the room. “I believe you will find something that belongs to you on the balcony.” With a small, mysterious smile, he withdrew to the outer corridor from which you had come, leaving you alone.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, you saw the figure standing on the balcony with its back to you. Thick, dark hair flowed over the shoulders of a fur-collared coat, and when he turned, the handsome face bore the scars of new wounds. There was a tremor of emotion in Thorin’s voice as he sighed, “my One,” and your step quickened as your tears of joy flowed freely to find yourself in his arms once again, looking into eyes as blue as a summer sky.


End file.
